


School Spirit

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Skirt Kink, Smut, definitely inspired by the film history of violence, sweet plotless smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 16:32:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13551261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: Jim finds something from Joyce's past and gets nostalgic; Joyce gets school spirit.Shameless unadulterated smut. Inspired by the film "A History of Violence".





	School Spirit

“Hop, if it says my name on it, don’t go through it!” Joyce Hopper shouted over her shoulder as she threw a Raggedy Andy Doll into a large cardboard box labelled ‘Donate’. She and Jim were going through her basement storage, deciding which long-forgotten items were going to be junked, salvaged or donated before she and Will packed up their belongings and moved into a new, nicer house on the other end of town with Jim (her husband of one week) and Jane. 

“Too late!” A low whistle prompted a heavy groan from Joyce, and she walked over to the other side of the basement to investigate. Jim was turned while kneeling in front of an old steamer trunk, grinning like a fool, and holding Joyce’s old cheerleading skirt up to his chest. 

“Oh for Pete’s sake, put it in the donation pile!” 

Jim shook his head, his cheeks pink and his blue eyes sparkling. “Nu-uh, no way. This has sentimental value--” his eyes flew to her waist, which was accentuated by her tight, blue tank top, and belted denim shorts; his tongue snaked out to wet his bottom lip “-- and I do believe it would still fit.”

Joyce snorted, crossing her arms over her chest in a self-conscious maneuver as the heat of his gaze burned clear to her scalp. “Sentimental value,” she mocked with sigh. 

Jim stood and stepped forward, close enough that Joyce’s chest brushed his abdomen. She shivered at the contact, but rolled her eyes and swatted at him when he traced his forefinger up and down the bridge of nose. “Oh yeah. Those whole two weeks you spent on the squad before telling Chrissy where she could stick her pom-poms? Seared into my memory.” He cupped her cheek and bent low to brush his lips against her smiling mouth, ending the kiss by nudging the tip of his nose against hers. 

“Like that time I screamed ‘choke’ before your free throw?” Joyce teased when he pulled away. Jim chuckled and pulled her into his arms, burying his face against the top of her head and inhaling her scent.

“You were just sore because I asked Chrissy to prom to get a rise out of you.”

“It worked. That was the day I quit the squad too. Lonnie drove me home that--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah... I was talking about the first day you joined the squad and snuck into my bedroom to model this little number.”

“Oh, that.” She grinned against his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through his t-shirt, the steady beat of his heart. 

“Try it on for me.”

Joyce pulled away and stared up at him, her mouth forming an astonished ‘O’. “No way,” she protested, gently slapping his chest. “I hate skirts.”

“I’m not saying wear it out to dinner. I’m just saying... wear it a little. For bedroom times.” 

She rolled her eyes and snatched the skirt from his hand. “In your dreams.”

“My most vivid ones, actually,” he teased with a roguish wink.

“Well, dream on.”

* * *

 

He was exhausted, drained, dog-tired, bone-tired, every kind of tired known to man... but Jim couldn’t erase the smile from his face nor the mantra in his heart as his truck turned onto his street - the cheery, dove-grey Cape Cod-style house appearing in the darkness like a beacon :

_ Going home to my wife and the kids are gone for the night. Going home to my wife and the kids are gone for the night... _

It was Max Mayfield’s birthday, and her mother had taken Jane, Will, and the whole gang to some sort of resort hotel outside of Indianapolis. It was perfect. Conditions were perfect. Jim had even slammed a coffee before leaving the station. 

The house was suspiciously dark when he stepped through the entrance off of the garage. The light above the stove was on, illuminating the kitchen with an eerie, orange glow. Jim felt panic bubble up in his chest, quickening his heartbeat as he grabbed for his gun, and looked around for signs of forced entry - broken windows, upturned furniture... nothing.

“Stop panicking and come to the bedroom!” Joyce’s laughter-tined voice floated down the stairs. Jim chuckled softly; she knew him well. 

“Where’s dinner?” He shouted back, teasingly.

“Saran wrapped and in the fridge - get up here!” 

Finding a second wind, Jim made his way to the stairs, just off of the kitchen, and fairly bounded up on his way to Joyce. 

The bedroom was dimly lit - Joyce’s bedside lamp was the only thing providing light, and she was nowhere in sight, but the sliver of illumination beneath the door to their bathroom, and the faint music playing on the other side, quickly told Jim where he could find his wife.

“Don’t open the door! Have a seat on the bed.” 

He could’ve done a backflip at that point. The bossiness in her tone could only mean one thing… she was was in a playful mood tonight, and the absolute best kind of playful. Jim settled onto the edge of the bed and rubbed his knees, barely resisting the urge to chant ‘oh boy’. He frowned when he recognized the music.

“Joyce… is that our old school song? Why are you playing marching ba--”

The door opened and words failed him in an instant. 

“Go Tigers,” Joyce cheered, dryly, the corners of her mouth threatening to pull into a shy smile as she skipped into the room, and did a little twirl - the pleated skirt of her old cheerleading uniform flaring over her hips to reveal navy boyshort panties. Jim noted, with a hazy-minded sort of pleasure, that the while the skirt still fit, the blue and gold sweater was considerably more snug than it had been during their school days… and she was braless. 

“Holy fuck,” Jim exhaled, prompting a snort from Joyce. She was even wearing saddle shoes and ankle socks. It was a heady dose of nostalgia that fizzed hot into his gut, and travelled lower, his work khakis becoming uncomfortably tight as his gaze travelled up and down several times as she sauntered up to him. 

“This is a one-time deal. I feel fucking ridiculous,” Joyce stated as she crawled onto his lap. She cupped his face and tilted his gaze upwards so the seriousness of her statement could be expressed in her stubborn face, in the set of her jaw, the slight pout in her lips, and the furrowing of her brow.

“Yeah,” Jim muttered, closing the distance between them, and capturing her pouting lip between his teeth before plunging his tongue into her mouth. One hand slid beneath her buttocks to grasp one firm cheek, while the other stroked up and down her back as she squirmed, writhed, and met his intense greediness with her own keen hunger. He pulled away, as a nagging thought persisted; it wouldn’t do to continue until he expressed it.

“What is it?” Joyce inquired, her voice muffled against the crook his neck as she panted and gasped for breath. 

“I just want to let you know that I’m getting off on you in the skirt, and good memories of you in the skirt… not off the thought of cheerleaders in general. I just want that to be crystal clear,” he mumbled, one hand grasping at the knit material at the small of her back, the other playing at the stray hairs that had fallen from her pony-tail. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up and take your dick out.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Your cock, Hopper.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Joyce slid to her feet and stepped back as Jim stood and fumbled with his belt. His hands were trembling, and he kept sneaking nervous, red-cheeked glances at her. Finally, Joyce stepped forward and finished the job for him with steady hands. The cool air of the room hit his now-throbbing cock, and the sensation filled him with such relief that he gave a little sigh. That sigh turned into a full-throated groan when Joyce knelt and took him into her mouth. 

“Oh fu- ah! - Joyce, baby, that feels so…” Jim found himself quite unable to form complete sentences, as Joyce cradled his balls in one hand and steadied his length in the other as her lips tightened and her tongue tortured. His fingers threaded through her hair and his hips began to rock gently as she hit an exquisite rhythm. Soon, a tell-tale pressure warned him that he had to act fast in order to have her properly.

“Stop, I’m gonna come… not fair,” he gasped. Joyce pulled away and looked up at him with her wide, beautiful eyes. He cupped her cheek and ran his thumb along her swollen lower lip. “I need to fuck you,” he pleaded. She rose to her feet without a word, stood on her tiptoes, and brushed her lips against his.

“How do you want me?” 

The innocent question ignited yet another fire beneath Jim’s already scorched skin. In a flash, she was pushed onto all fours onto the bed, near the edge, her navy blue clad ass sticking in the air. Jim pushed the material down, and placed one hand on her shoulder, and the other on her hot center. She was dripping, and he elicited a sharp cry from her as his index and middle fingers found her swollen little clit, giving it a few light strokes before he positioned himself behind her and pushed into her inviting folds. 

“You’re fucking beautiful, he growled, as his hips began to move slowly. She was hot and deliciously tight, and he knew if he didn’t pace himself, it would be over before it even began. 

“Harder,” she urged after a few moments of gentle, leisurely paced rocking.

“I’m close,” he replied.

“So am I. Fuck me, Hop.”

He could never resist her when she became bossy in bed. It was like catnip. His grip tightened on her shoulder and he increased the intensity of his thrusts, pounding into her with such fierceness that the room was filled with sounds of flesh against flesh, and Joyce’s increasingly desperate cries. He felt a flood of wetness around his cock, followed by her walls clamping down hard around him, her tiny frame trembling violently as she called out his name. With a harsh cry, he pulled himself from her crux, shoved her skirt further up her back, and emptied himself onto her smooth, pale flesh before collapsing onto his back at her side.

“Oh, this is all very familiar,” Joyce observed after a spell, her voice muffled against the mattress. 

Jim covered his face with two hands and snickered. “I’ll go get a towel. Don’t move.”

“Quietly. I’d be really embarrassed if your parents walked in and saw me like this.”


End file.
